


You and Me.

by HurricanesatDawn



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, M/M, Suicidal Thoughts, Tragic Ship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-26
Updated: 2012-04-26
Packaged: 2017-11-04 08:25:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/391791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HurricanesatDawn/pseuds/HurricanesatDawn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The gun feels heavy as it rests in the palm of his hand. Heavier than one with only a single bullet in it should.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You and Me.

The gun feels heavy as it rests in the palm of his hand. Heavier than one with only a single bullet in it should.

Light catches on the barrel as it’s moved just a bit, shining brightly thanks to its newly polished state. It’s always been a favoured gun. Kept in perfect condition despite so many years of disuse. This gun had been with its owner through just about everything.

The first time he put a bullet in another man’s heart, it was with this gun. Not even his gun. Not at first. He’d stolen it off a cocky teenager that grew up on the same street as him. The boy had been so freaked out by it going missing that he’d never reported it. Never dared to look for a culprit.

He’d wanted to shoot the boy. Would have been his first kill, when he was just fourteen, if he’d though he could have gotten away with it. Still feared his old da’ a bit much for that at the time. He wasn’t a bad kid. He really wasn’t. Just wanted a little extra something with which to protect himself.

Then he’d put a bullet in the old man. Hadn’t even meant to do it. Was just planning to threaten him, stop the blows from coming. He’d pulled it out, hands shaking as he’d pointed it at the bastard.

_“I’ll shoot you. Don’t you dare come closer or I’ll shoot.”_

Maybe da’ not heard him in his drunken stupor. Probably just that he hadn’t cared. He’d thought that his little Sebby, all timid and shaky was too scared to pull the trigger. Maybe that it wasn’t loaded. But it was. It was loaded and when he’d gotten so scared that he’d been about to drop it, his hands had locked up and he’d shot without even intending to do it.

He hadn’t even aimed properly. Just shot blindly. If they hadn’t been that close, it’d never have been fatal. But oh boy, the look on his da’s face. Shock. Dismay. Disappointment.

But that was then. He’s no longer a scared little boy, desperate to get away from a barrage of fists. He’s a grown man, a man who’s wrestled tigers, stripped the skin off men in cold blood. He shouldn’t be this terrified of being alone.

But right now, he feels more alone that he’s ever felt in his entire life. More so than those three years living on the streets alone. More than his years in the army before he got himself kicked out for gross insubordination. More than the six months he spent living in the bottom of the bottle, gambling away what little money he had left.

Because, back then? He’d never known that he was truly empty inside. Hadn’t realized that he needed something more from life. Thought that all that was all there was.

Then along came a man. The most amazing and wonderful man he’d ever met. Took a hold of his life, made him better. _Fixed him_. James fucking Moriarty. The man, the spider, the fucker that could turn the entire world upside down and not even ruffle his clothes doing it.

He must have been like an ant in comparison. Such an extraordinary man, shoved into a suit that shouldn’t have fit him. Into a body that wasn’t nearly big enough for his presence.

Could’ve had the world if he wanted. Could’ve had everything. But he didn’t seem to want it. Settled for chain link, him at the end and a hundred broken fighting men, pickpockets, blackmailers, and card sharpers at the other, with every sort of crime in between.

Which really shouldn’t have worked as well as it did. Which really didn’t work as well as it seemed.

But where does that leave a ruined, practically useless man like Sebastian? Sitting on the edge of a bed that’s not his, that was never his, with a gun in his hand. Contemplating the merits of a bullet through the head.

_‘Should I do it? James did. Why shouldn’t I? I have every right to do it too. To join him in death, even if I meant nothing to him in life. Bastard’ll need a decent helper in hell with him. Shouldn’ta left me like that. Didn’t even warn me. Just popped off one day an’ did it.’_

Because James’d never believed in an afterlife. Or sentiment. There’s really no denying that this is all driven by idiotic, human sentimentality.

Would he have been embarrassed by the route Sebastian took after his death? Would he have been disappointed in him? Probably. Such high standards. Shouldn’t have. Should’ve learnt by then that a man like Sebastian could never live up to them.

James’ would, _will be_ disappointed in him. But he doesn’t really care at this point. James’ lost the right to make his opinion known when he took a gun to his own head and killed himself. ‘sides. Not even like Sebastian meant anything to him. Just his second in command. Nothing more, nothing less. That was how he lived. And that would be how he would die.

Sebastian thumbs over the barrel of the gun and down to the trigger, his touch feather light as he presses along it. It would be so easy...


End file.
